


Not Another Flower Shop AU

by maximumpurple



Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 05:29:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8389075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximumpurple/pseuds/maximumpurple
Summary: Remy Lebeau was a wild card. 'Was' being the operative word. After his reckless actions caused a few too many tragedies, Remy fled his hometown, setting up a flower shop in a sleepy part of Westchester, New York. He was determined to blend in, to not ruffle any feathers, and most importantly, to maintain anonymity. Then Logan came along.





	1. Hate Bouquet

Remy hummed absentmindedly as he spritzed the flowers with water. It had been a good day for business, what with prom season right around the corner. All day, awkward teenage boys had filtered in and out of the shop in search of corsages. The fervor had died down as the day neared its end, and Remy's shop was now free of customers. At that moment, the bell on the door tinkled, signaling the entrance of a person.  


Well. Almost free of customers. Remy straightened his apron and tightened his hair tie, stepping out from the back of the store to stand at the cash register. He jumped as a hand smacked down seventeen dollars on his precious Italian marble countertop.  


"Careful!" Remy yelped. "Dat table cost more dan you've made yo' entire life!" The man only grunted in reply.  


"Do I look like I give a shit? I need flowers." Remy sniffed at the man's words, carefully inspecting the countertop as he replied.  


"Remy t'ink you need a class on anger management, homme." The man chuckled darkly.  


"Yer a riot. How do you passive-aggressively say 'fuck you' in flower?" Remy looked up at the man in surprise, straightening as he took in the man's appearance.  


He was short, but he more than made up for it with his sheer muscle mass. A red plaid flannel shirt was stretched across a barrel chest, and damn if the man wasn't hairy. Thick black hair sprouted from his arms and peeked out from under the shirt, and the hair on his head was just as thick, as well as unique. Styled to look almost like cat ears, the hair was pointed on the sides, and he somehow pulled off muttonchops.  


Looking back up at the man's face, Remy smirked internally. Although a good deal shorter than he usually went for, Remy found himself instantly attracted to the burly man. Before he knew it, a bit of his charm slipped out. Remy's eyes widened as he realized, and he quickly slammed his shields shut.  


"Ya gonna stand there staring or ya gonna answer my question?" The man's words brought Remy back to reality, and he blushed.  


"O' course, monsieur. Désolé, Remy was in anot'er world. You asked how to passive-aggressively say 'fuck you'?" A terse nod. "Bien. 'Fraid dere's no flower dat says dat exactly, mais Remy can whip up a bouquet o' lavenders, geraniums, rhododendrons, begonias, monkshood, petunias, an' orange lilies."  


"What do those mean?" The short man looked at him curiously. Rey flashed him a grin, all too happy to translate the language of flowers.  


"Well monsieur, monkshood mean dat a deadly foe is near, and you seem like de wrong person to be an enemy of. Begonias mean beware, lavender mean distrust, an' orange lilies mean hatred. Dose three flowers are real pretty, an' most folks don't t'ink dat a pretty flower can mean somet'ing ugly. So dere's dat passive-aggressiveness you want. Petunias mean resentment, geraniums mean stupidity. Put dose in a bouquet, an' yo' callin' dat person couillon. An' last, rhododendrons mean beware, like begonias. How's dat setting sound?"  


"Perfect," the customer said, a dark grin on his face.  


"An' who's dis bouquet from?" Rey asked nonchalantly, plucking a Sharpie out of the cup on the counter. He then reached over to grab a greeting card, looking expectantly at the other man.  


"Logan," he said slowly, looking intently at Remy. Remy's brow furrowed in confusion, before he realized his sunglasses had slid down his nose, exposing his red-on-black eyes. Remy widened said eyes, reaching a hand up to push the glasses back into position. Before he could do so, Logan reached out a hand and removed the glasses entirely, staring intently into Remy's eyes. Despite his best efforts, Remy found himself staring back at the strange man, who didn't seem to be scared of the eyes that had made life so difficult for him.  


After a long moment of eye contact, Remy flinched and scurried to the back of the store, collecting the necessary flowers for Logan's bouquet.  


"What de hell was dat, Lebeau?" he hissed to himself, picking out a begonia. "Some crazy homme be askin' fo' a hate bouquet, an' yo' getting all worked up over him? You fool! Ain't you learned yo' lesson? Last time that damn charm got out...it can't happen again. Merde!" Remy cursed. Lost in his mutterings, he'd accidentally grabbed a rose with thorns, and now he glared at his finger as blood beaded. Huffing out a breath, Remy grabbed the last flower and, steeling his shoulders, returned to the front of the shop, where Logan was waiting with a strangely knowing look on his face.  


"So," Remy said, forcing his tone to be light and airy, "what you want de greeting card t' say?" As he spoke, he strung the bouquet together, wrapping it up to give his hands something to do.  


"Slim,  


Get over yourself, you fuckin' Boy Scout.  


Logan."  


Remy raised an eyebrow. "Dat's quite simple, monsieur," he said idly, inscribing the sentiment on a greeting card. Logan smirked.  


"I'm not one fer words. Much better with my actions," he said, winking luridly. Remy was appalled to find himself blushing. Honestly! He was willing to bet he'd had sex with more people than this man knew, but one sentence from this man and he was acting like some kind of fresh-faced virgin. It was ridiculous, and quite frankly Remy didn't appreciate it. Where did this Logan guy get off? Coming into his shop, looking entirely too sexy angry, and making the oddest request Remy had ever heard. Who gave him the right? Remy had been having a perfectly good day, and then this guy showed up and threw everything out of whack.  


Dragging himself out of his thoughts, Remy finished writing up the card, nestling it snugly in the bouquet as he handed it to Logan. Of course, their hands touched as Logan grabbed the bouquet, and Remy silently cursed his heart as it sped up and his cheeks as they reddened again. He quickly busied himself with ringing up the purchase, oblivious to the smile on Logan's face. His smile broadened when the shop owner looked back at him.  


"Well, see ya, kid," Logan said, tossing the sunglasses he still held onto the counter. Fire blazed in the other man's eyes.  


"De name's Remy," he snapped, "and Remy ain't no kid." Exotic eyes widened as the man realized what he'd said.  


"Déso-" he started, but Logan was...laughing? Once the shorter man's laughter died down, he grinned mirthfully up at Remy.  


"Spunky, aren't ya? I like that. Got a last name, kid?" Logan put a slight emphasis on the last word, and Remy bristled again.  


"Dunno, do you?" Logan chuckled at the sassy response.  


"My last name's Howlett. Yer turn, kid." Remy practically snarled at the moniker.  


"Lebeau," he said through gritted teeth. Determined to ignore the attractive yet bothersome man, Remy picked up his spray bottle and continued to water the flowers. But Logan had no intentions of leaving yet.  


"Yer from bayou country, aren't ya?" Logan asked as he idly flipped through a flower guide. Remy nodded, pride for his hometown winning out over his desire to get the man to leave.  


"Oui. Remy's from Louisiana, mo' specifically de fine city o' N'awlins."  


"So how'd a fine Cajun dish such as yerself end up in New York?" Remy blushed again, cursing his body and mind's uncharacteristic responses to the man's flirtations. He then shrugged, a shadow flitting across his face as he though back to the events that had led to his banishment from the only place he'd ever truly called home.  


"Remy decided he needed a change, dat's all." Logan's eyes narrowed as his nostrils caught the scent of a lie, but he didn't press it. Instead, he grabbed a greeting card and a sharpie, ignoring Remy's yelp of protest. He quickly scrawled a number on the card, then handed it to Remy. Winking at the florist, he walked out of the shop, grinning to himself as he left.  


Half an hour later, as he was closing up the shop, Remy noticed he was missing a flower guide.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I am soooooo sorry this took so long! I have been absolutely buried under schoolwork, and when I finally found the time to work on this, I had the worst case of writer's block! This chapter is nowhere near as good as I'd like it to be, but I feel like I owe you guys something.

_Silence._

_Turning in a slow circle around the room, Remy let out a whimper as he looked at all the horrified faces around him. Belladonna, looking radiant in her wedding dress, glared fearfully at him from behind her father._

_“A son for a son!” Marius Boudreaux bellowed, advancing toward Remy. Jean-Luc stepped in front of the frightened mutant._

_“Non,” he said thunderously, his eyes flashing. “Julien challenged Remy t’ a duel. Remy won, fair an’ square. Ain’t not’ing more to it.” Marius sneered._

_“This isn’t over, Lebeau. The Assassins’ Guild will not forget this. I had hoped for a truce, but your...son has made it clear that is not possible.”_

_“Marius, don’t start dis feud again!” Jean-Luc begged. Marius turned away from him._

_“The Assassins’ Guild will not rest until Remy Lebeau is dead.” With those words, he stalked out of the chapel, the other members of his guild following him._

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Remy sat up in bed with a gasp, looking wildly around the room. His heart rate slowed and his breathing evened out with the realization that he was in his apartment.

“Dieu, what a dream,” he muttered, though even as he said it he knew it had been more than a dream. Memories of that day had haunted his sleep for years. With a sigh, Remy looked over at the clock by his bed. 6:29, a minute before his alarm would go off. No point in going back to sleep, he mused. As his feet hit the floor, a cat curled around his legs, and Remy smiled before bending down and picking up Oliver.

“Bonjour, chat,” he cooed, scratching the feline between the ears as he walked out of his bedroom. As Remy walked into the kitchen, Oliver jumped out of his arms and padded over to his food bowl, busying himself with eating. Remy chuckled, shuffling over to the bathroom to shower and brush his teeth.

Stepping out of the shower fifteen minutes later, a significantly more awake Remy hummed as he spread toothpaste on his brush. As he stuck the toothbrush in his mouth, his thoughts wandered back to his dream. Wonder what ol’ Marius is doin’ now, he mused as he spat out the toothpaste. Shrugging, he left the bathroom and went to get dressed.

Remy looked up with a grin as the door opened with a jingle.

“Logan! Bonjour,” he said, looking curiously at the girl standing behind the burly man. Logan had been coming to the store every day for the past two weeks, but he’d never brought somebody else with him. Remy and Logan had had many conversations in that time, and Remy had been dismayed to find that the man was not only attractive, but had a heart of gold and a wicked sense of humor. Remy had fallen in love hard and fast.

"Who’s dis?” He said, standing up and moving out from behind the counter to greet the newcomer.

“This is my daughter, Laura.” Laura gave him a shy wave, which he returned as if in a daze. Logan was married? But he’d been flirting with Remy since that first meeting! But, Remy reminded himself, it didn’t matter. He couldn’t have pursued anything with Logan anyway.

“Bonjour, cher,” Remy said with a charming grin. “You take after yo’ father, don’t you? Remy’s surprised dat such an ugly mug could look so good on you.”

“Watch yer mouth, Cajun,” Logan growled good-naturedly. “I brought her here fer a reason. She’s tryin’ ta ask someone out.”

“Logan,” Laura said, her tone very calm. She then turned to Remy. “He’s right. What can you offer me that’s bright and colorful?”

“Dat’s no problem, petite. But what you want dese flowers t’say?” Laura narrowed her eyes slightly in thought.

“Friendship that want to be something more. Affection, admiration, and fondness.” Remy grinned, moving from behind the counter to collect the flowers.

“Remy got just de t’ing, petite. Carnations fo’ fascination an’ new love, and alstroemeria fo’ friendship. Dat sound all right?” Laura nodded slightly, offering Remy a small smile at Logan’s prompting. Remy grinned back at her reassuringly. A few minutes later, Remy handed Laura the artfully wrapped bouquet, then rang up the flowers.

“Hope yo’ flowers work, petite!” Remy grinned, then started to turn to water the flowers.Suddenly a hand shot out and grabbed him, and Remy turned to see Logan looking at him, with something like nervousness in his eyes.

“Wanna get lunch sometime?” Logan said abruptly. Remy blinked, a small smile beginning to spread across his face before he caught it. His smile dropped as he realized how he would have to respond.

“Desole, but Remy can’t. He works during lunchtime.”

“Dinner, then,” Logan suggested, not skipping a beat. Shaking his head sadly, Remy avoided Logan’s eyes.

“‘Fraid not, cher. Remy can’t date.”

“Yer not single?” Logan looked shocked.

“Non, non, Remy’s single.”

“Then what-”

“Please cher, don’ do dis,” Remy begged, feeling tears spring to his eyes at the feelings of sadness and disappointment radiating off Logan. “Remy want to, he really do. He just can’t.” With those words, Remy wrenched himself out of Logan’s grasp, steadfastly avoiding the shorter man’s eyes. Logan stepped back slightly, scenting Remy’s genuine sadness.

“What are ya so afraid of, Cajun?” Logan said quietly.

“...Hurtin’ you,” Remy responded, his voice barely above a whisper. In just a few short weeks, Remy had become attached to Logan, but had fooled himself into thinking that Logan wasn’t interested in him. Now that the truth was staring him in the face, Remy couldn’t handle it. Logan was everything he could ever want, and everything he could never have.

“Remy t’ink it’s best you leave, cher,” he whispered, still not looking at Logan. Narrowing his eyes, Logan spun on his heel and stalked out, slamming the door behind him. Once Logan was out of eyeshot, Remy slid down the counter to the floor, holding his head in his hands as tears silently streamed down his face.


	3. Presents of Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Alright, I'm gonna be honest with you guys.  
> I have no idea where this is going.  
> Really, this idea came to me in the middle of class all the way back in October. I forgot that things like responsibilities existed, and threw myself headlong into planning this story. I have a notebook filled with the meanings of flowers. I was inspired.  
> Then, I got accepted to my dream college. And then I ended the semester with barely passing grades. Then I started school again. And now we're here, with me struggling to keep up with homework and praying to every deity ever believed in that I pass algebra.  
> I just want you guys to know that if you ever think I've forgotten this fic, I haven't. It's constantly at the back of my mind, no matter what I'm doing. Hell, I've had dreams about possible scenarios for this story. And while I can't promise a regular update schedule, I can promise that, barring my death, I will finish this fic. Just bear with me as I wade through the floodwaters of life.  
> P.S.: You can thank the two commenters baosjk89 and BB4ever for inspiring me to set aside the time to finish this chapter. Follow their lead and tell me what you think!  
> P.P.S.: In case you're wondering, I plan on making this flashback preface a regular thing. I also plan on switching between Logan's point of view and Remy's, and *grimace* bringing Sinister and Creed into the mix. Writing Remy suffering will be as painful for me as it will be for you to read, maybe even more so. I'm gonna stop talking now, the five people who haven't already skipped past this are probably really sick of me.

_In the humid heat of a New Orleans night, a young man packed his bags in preparation to flee the only home he’d ever known._

_“Remy, s’il vous plaît,” Jean-Luc begged, watching his son empty what he could of his wardrobe into a duffel bag. “Don’ leave me, mon fils. Yo’ all I have left.”_

_“Pere, I hafta,” Remy said quietly, not looking at the other man. “I need to atone fo’ my sins, and I can’t do dat here in N’awlins wit’ you and de rest o’ de T’ieves Guild watching my every move. ‘Sides, Marius ain’t gon stop dis killing till Remy’s dead o’ out of de city. And-” Remy broke down a bit, allowing a few tears to trail down his face. “I can’t be responsible fo’ yo’ death, too.”_

_Letting loose a tear of his own, Jean-Luc sighed deeply. He knew his adopted son well, and when the boy made up his mind, there was no changing it. He also knew he’d be damned if he sent Remy out into a world he knew little about without giving him some protection. He’d already lost one son, he refused to lose another._

_“Remy,” Jean-Luc said quietly, capturing the boy’s attention. “Dere’s a place in New York, an ol’ loft apartment I bought fo’ Henri’s mere, ‘fore she passed. Should be in good condition. You stay dere.” Seeing the look of protest on his son’s face, Jean-luc held up a hand. “And I don’t wanna hear no arguments about dis. If I’m to send you off wit’ no money and no protection, I’m at least goin’ to make sure you have a place to stay.”_

_Now it was Remy’s turn to sigh. His adoptive father could be just as stubborn as he was, and if he was entirely honest with himself, he hadn’t been looking forward to the prospect of having to find a place to live._

_“Oui, Pere,” Remy said as he slung the now fully packed duffel bag over his shoulder. Walking over to the other man, he hugged him tightly, a few more tears falling as he squeezed his eye tightly shut._

_“Say adieu to Tante Mattie fo’ me,” Remy whispered, and by the time Jean-Luc finished nodding, he was gone._

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Head in his hands, Remy cursed his subconscious for taunting him with images of his past. Letting out a groan, Remy tossed his blankets to the side, smiling softly at the three indignant meows issuing from under the sheets.

Fifteen minutes into his daily routine, Remy’s doorbell rang. Not giving a second thought to the fact that his only attire was a pair of heart-patterned boxers, Remy shuffled over to the door and opened it, yawning widely as he did so.

For a moment, Remy could only stare dumbly at the potted flowers on his doormat. Once he recovered, he slowly bent down to pick up the pot, and carefully plucked the accompanying note from its spot among the flowers.

 

_Remy,_

_I’m sorry for storming out the way I did. I don’t know why I did that. Actually, I do. It’s the same reason I’ve been avoiding you for weeks. I was being selfish and stubborn. I do that a lot. I hope these flowers will help to make up for it._

_Logan_

 

“Oh cher,” Remy whispered feelingly, valiantly trying not to tear up. “Yo’ making it real hard for dis Cajun to stop falling in love wit’ you.”


End file.
